JFK

USS Grasp won’t lift me out of the sea

The United States Citizens won’t pay to fly my father via helicopter

to my crash site out in the ocean bed

At least now I know there is a big loft available in Tribeca

I could be doing lots of art there, and not be just a rich folk

How come I’m not famous?

Because my father didn’t die?

Because my father didn’t work for the government?

Maybe my father did more, if he saved one person from suicide, does that

make him famous? A hero?

Would you dive for me?

Would you dive for my dead father?

And his airplane?

Would the President give a damn?

Will Newspapers cover my death or will I be buried in lonesome without

public knowledge?

Will a Coast Guard ship ferry my father out to see my dead plane?

Will England and Australia and Japan write about my disappearance in the sea?

Why is it appropriate for the Navy to find them?

Aren’t we all equal? all human? Isn’t there an Amendment?

If I contribute the birth of a child or a smile, is that not enough to save

my life?

Or now, my taxes, my money, must pay for the salvage of three I never knew?

I know what really happened, you see...

It was just a little Orgy.

You know the car fun, why not airplane fun?

JFK’s wife was going down on him, giving head, on that airplane, now there dead.

Her sister got hot, and her panties, damn wet - before you know it, the

windows were foggy

and wha-la! JFK was going speedy, and kaboom! (remember that cereal?)

All right, you may be disgusted, but we all know what happened.

It was a double murder-suicide.

You see - JFK was smackin’ around his bitch. The bitch’s sister interfered.

JFK lost his cool and punched her in the face and pushed and pushed and now

she’s gone without a trace; he pushed her out of the plane

JFK knows he done wrong - so now he must beat his bitch out of the plane too

He beat and beat and killed two - that’s a double murder on his plate - what

to do?

He didn’t want fame nor George nor boats nor airports nor common sense,

murder just led him to heaven,

so, he committed suicide after a double Dutch!

And now i buy the papers, it’s what we call art,

or I use for kitty litter and abbey road junior can make a piss on.

How can you say, that the Kennedy family contributed more than the Harth family?

And this justifies why I spent my tax dollars on a man I never gave a damn

about?

I would never get the USS Briscoe out to sea for my commitment

Now I have to go home and take a JFK Jr highway home or bridge over waters?

And later plan my schedule to go around blocked streets because I’m paying

for the President to come to town to pay respect. Fuck that, It’s a free

world, let me walk on the street, or If I do, I’ll be arrested?

I went on the online auctions today

Did you see them?

You can get the first issue of GEORGE magazine for currently $150

You can get the current issue of GEORGE magazine for currently $26

You can get the next month’s issue of GEORGE magazine for currently $26

(with JFK Jr on the cover!)

I got mine; did you get yours?

You can also buy domain names, like JFK-Jr.com and such, for five thousand,

fifteen thousand and twenty thousand dollars. There’s something I need!

I went to St. Patrick’s Old Cathedral

Just a few blocks away

I was just there, a few weeks ago

Out on the street watching girls eat mangos and French films projected on

the church walls.

The old Irish lad came out and said it was a circus in there

Kind of like the media circus out here?

I heard the bag pipes

And took some photographs

The priest came out to those who couldn’t get in, though those that were in,

were hot smelly sweaty pigs and dogs. With no air conditioning, the FDNY

went in often. And Con-Edison, that I paid for, set up unique

air-conditioning that didn’t work.

The priest giving Communion. He came around. He placed a wafer in my hand,

circular with a cross in the middle. I saved it in my palm close to my

heart and now tomorrow, check out the online auctions I’ll make a million

with it!!

After services I toured the church, couldn’t find my art but lit a candle

for a friend.

I ran away and got more tape

I ran away and printed up signs

I trekked down to Tribeca where I posted signs on the Police barricade.

They said

“

(in small letters):

WE LOVE JFK-BASSETTE

(in big letters):

PRESS

LET

THEM

REST

“

A woman asked me, “What organization are you with?”

I replied, “None, I’m just Human.”

But the press didn’t like me.

Gave me weird looks

Yelled and called me names with sarcastic thankyous.

I took photos of my art and went on the waiting line.

It’s time to fuck up the mainstream, and I’ll start with my medium, the media.

so, I went to the flower shrine in TriBeCa

waste of money flowers? how about all the dying children and cancer?

i left an “I AM AMERICA” bill there to lay

and on it I wrote

‘In JFK we don’t trust to fly us’

I have photos to prove it, I’ll show you one day.

And I taped up all over the walls and flowers my signage to the press;

PRESS LET THEM REST

I passed the candles, American-flags, teddy-bears, signs, photos, children,

letters, drawings, paintings, guitars, caps, dead flowers, 20-dollar bills,

glitter, marker, ink, non-American flags, poetry, hands, flashes, elevator

shaft ways, and life

went back to my Police barricades and my signs were ripped down

The press doesn’t like it when I fight back

So now I plead with you all

Realize today we play the bagpipes all together

Like the bum on the corner making a dime

We once were told we were equal, but you see we are not.

Some pigs are more equal than other pigs

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.07.23.02:10:17 @ Tribeca/New York City

Jacksun Polluck (Talk This, Talk That Revisited #2)

dun dun - dun dun - dun dun

dun dun dun

Jacksun Polluck

My potluck

Feel a bit Warholee?

Prime time colour Me!

Pin stripes

Smokin' pipes

Velvet girls of 4teen

Loosing feathers, what I mean

Elegant arrogant

She is so hesitant

Gracias Do

It meanta lot for me to go

8 Cathedrals and 1 Trojan Horse

In my pocket of course

Ice protector

Erection for her

Flat chested fake marriages

And cheetah languages

The sequence man, or warrior, or queer

Tongue Red-framed glasses showing no fear!

HOLY CRAP!! What nice leggs! (advert)

She makes me hurt!

Lady bare back

I'm gonna have a heartattack

Romantic wood

I'd be serious, if I could

Some gay boys

And girl toys

Plastic surgery

King of imagery

Lighted memory

Enchanted glamoury

Blue tunes

Cigar log flumes

Orange Man crossing my path

Just after the noon bath

Old busy poppy bags

Salt & Pepper hags

Blue eyes, blue dress - contact

I've been backed

What the fuck is that!? -

   That string around your neck!

Round-a-bout cat! -

   You look like a fuckin' wreck!

“Is it Beauty, or is it Art?”

“It's Art”

“Can they both co-exist with eachother?”

“Yes”

“Something to think about...”

Purple pusher, fuzzy man, sexy status, beg me tun, rafoss spiffy

tuxedo warrants, maniac laughter, Egyptian short tight silver skirts

BLUE

PoeticK jazz

& jazz rain

dance to the jazz

the jazz

the jazz .....

© 1998 David Greg Harth

98.10.28.23:00:00@MOMANYC